


The Darkness

by KairiasYami2



Series: 500 Words A Day [9]
Category: Original Work
Genre: Gen, Supernatural Elements
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-31
Updated: 2020-05-31
Packaged: 2021-03-03 06:00:47
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,111
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24479863
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KairiasYami2/pseuds/KairiasYami2
Summary: Joan can feel their heart beat hard in their chest. Part of them is screaming, shrieking, because something’s wrong here, something is so so wrong. There is a part of them that is begging, begging, to stop, to get away from here, to close their eyes and plug their ears.(Day 9&10 of '500 word challenge' I'm doing with myself.)
Series: 500 Words A Day [9]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1756213





	The Darkness

**Author's Note:**

> So I didn't get the chance to write yesterday because I was super super busy, but I still wanted to do yesterday's prompt (which was Beg; I definitely had to make sure not to write anything weird...) so I combined them! I hope you guys enjoy. I really really enjoyed writing this! I almost want to write more for this...we'll see.

Prompt: Beg ; As a Matter of Fact...Yes

* * *

Joan knew they shouldn’t have gone for  _ The Darkness _ . Their friends had told them the myths surrounding the painting, about how any thief who tried to steal it went missing, only to turn up dead weeks later. And truthfully, they hadn’t planned to, initially. They had planned to take a couple of lesser known paintings, simply to help pay this month’s rent with the money they got from selling the paintings. But then they caught a glimpse of  _ The Darkness _ where it was hung as the museum’s centerpiece, and they couldn’t look away. They understood, in that moment, why it was one of the most infamous pieces of art in the world. It was beautiful, but something about it seemed so...haunting. Joan felt like the man in the painting was watching them as they went about grabbing their planned marks - they felt like there was a presence in the room that hung heavy in the air, almost making it difficult to breathe.

They did their best to ignore the painting. They’d seen enough horror movies to know nothing good would come of ignoring the stories and their unsettled feelings. So they carefully grabbed the paintings they had chosen to steal, ones that together would be worth enough to pay their rent for a couple months but not so expensive anyone would miss them too much. They are no professional thief, they don’t have the means to evade the manhunt they would face if they tried to steal any of the truly important paintings. And besides, they’re not trying to get rich quick or anything - they just want to survive, be able to pay their rent and college debt without working themself to death like their parents had. So, they try to keep a low profile.

But there’s just... _ something _ , about  _ The Darkness _ . It’s name is very apt - most of the painting is a black so dark it seems to actually draw in the light around it, leaving it in shadows despite the spotlights on it. It’s a simple portrait, of a man in a barely visible dark suit and with dark hair and dark eyes - eyes that seem to follow Joan. Eyes that seem to call them in even from a distance, endless voids that make Joan feel like their soul is laid bare, open for the world to see and judge.

Despite the fact that it’s just a painting, Joan can’t help hoping that they won’t be found wanting.

It’s as they are leaving that it happens.

Joan hears a whisper, and freezes. They worry that they messed something up, that the guards changed shifts early, or the police got tipped off and now they will be arrested. They stand in darkness for a while longer, wanting to leave but too worried to. They hear the whisper again, but this time they can tell where it came from. It came from behind them, in the room with no other exits but for the one they face right now. They know it is empty - they have just been in there. There is no way for anyone else to be in the room, and it didn’t sound like the whisper came from an intercom. They turn slowly, doing their best to stay in the shadows. But there is no one there. Cautiously, almost scared, they creep back into the room. Joan has seen horror movies, is one of those who shouts at the character not to investigate the strange noise, just leave, just  _ run _ . They know they should leave. All their common sense is screaming at them, shouting about how much of a bad idea this is.

The air feels heavy.

Their attention is drawn to  _ The Darkness _ . It’s illogical - they should be focused on getting out of the museum before they’re caught, not creeping towards a painting so valuable that it would pay off all of their debts and then some. That thought seems to be plucked from their mind, and they stumble in disorientation. Then suddenly, it’s all they can think about. If they take the painting...no one’s here. No one could catch them. And they’d be set for life! No more needing to take double shifts just to have enough food for that week. No more having to go freezing winters without heating because they couldn’t afford that extra cost. No more cold showers and meals consisting of only hastily cooked instant ramen.  _ Yes _ , the thought seems to curl through their head.  _ If you take the painting, no one will ever be able to look down on you for your too-thin clothes and ragged hair. You could help all those like you, who go days without food or heat, help those without homes. _

Joan can feel their heart beat hard in their chest. Part of them is screaming, shrieking, because something’s wrong here, something is so  _ so  _ **_wrong_ ** . There is a part of them that is begging,  _ begging _ , to stop, to get away from here, to close their eyes and plug their ears. But they can’t stop their feet from taking the last few steps towards the dark painting, can’t stop their hands from rising, from grasping at the frame. They step back, holding the large painting in their hands, and they take a moment to breathe. It feels impossible - like the breaths won’t come, like there is something squeezing their lungs, but they manage to draw in a breath.

Their hands are shaking.

Absently, they hear whispers curling through the air, and a ringing sound dominates most of their thoughts.

In a daze, they walk out of the room, eyes unable to look away from the painting. Those dark eyes shine, and they have to repeatedly remind themself to breathe. Somehow, they don’t bump into any objects, and without them even noticing they realize they are in their car. Their hands grip the steering wheel, and they breathe. “What...” Their voice is shaky and rough, as though they hadn’t spoken in years, and they try to bring order to their thoughts. “How...?” 

The ringing in their ears seems to grow impossibly louder, but they can’t move their hands to try and block the sound out. Their vision is slowly growing darker, and they try to breathe. But no air comes. Joan can feel their body shaking. There’s no pain, but they feel like there should be.

A thought crosses their mind.  _ It’s not just a painting. It’s  _ **_alive_ ** _. _ It’s the last coherent thought they have.

As their vision goes dark, they can hear only one thing.  _ What a smart little human...I think I might just keep you. _

**Author's Note:**

> So I definitely pictured Mark Fischbach's Darkiplier as the man in the painting.
> 
> Also, this was originally going to be about the mafia instead of a ghost painting, but this happened so I just went with it and I'm very happy with how it turned out so...
> 
> Hope you guys enjoyed!


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